


Unease

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [116]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Jared doesn’t know what he expects after Greg tells Deslauriers he wants a trade. Well, he sort of does: he expects to be traded.
Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/849798
Comments: 82
Kudos: 279





	Unease

Jared doesn’t know what he expects after Greg tells Deslauriers he wants a trade. Well, he sort of does: he expects to be traded. And he also kind of expected it to happen the very day it’s formally requested, but that’s dumb. Trades take time. Greg tells him that. Tells him that, and also that raging bigot or not, Deslauriers isn’t going to just ship Jared off to the first place that expresses any interest, he’s going to try to actually get something back, something good, and the more Jared plays with Julius, the better his numbers, the more he’s worth and the more Deslauriers is going to get in return.

It feels like Jared’s living in this weird half-life, this limbo, where he knows he’s asked for a trade, and Deslauriers knows he’s asked for it, and Bryce and his family and Julius all know he’s asked for it — some of the hardest calls he’s ever had to make, and one he kind of wishes had been a call, because telling Julius in person lead to Julius staring at him, stone-faced, colder and colder as Jared talked, and he didn’t say more than a syllable at a time to Jared for literal days after. Everyone else Jared talked to saw the sense in it, even if they didn’t like it, but Jared thinks Julius took it personally. 

Every day Jared wakes up thinking it might be his last day as an Oiler, and every day it isn’t he finds himself appreciating the team more. Not Deslauriers, obviously, but the gruff no bullshit of Mulligan’s coaching style, the quiet solidity of Julius beside him at dinner or on the plane, the loud talent of Julius beside him on the ice, the room around him, guys around him. Jared finds himself agreeing to go out more, dragging Julius with him, hoping partly that Julius makes more friends — Jared doesn’t want to worry about him if he leaves him behind — but also because he wants to, now that it’s something that could end at any moment. Maybe it’s something he should do with his new team from the start, whenever or whoever that’ll be.

Deslauriers hasn’t scratched him again, hasn’t said anything about him to the media, and Jared guesses that makes sense. Doing either of those would hurt Jared’s trade value, and Greg’s right: he’s going to need to get a good asset back or the fanbase is going to be pissed, especially with the chemistry him and Julius have. If they can get an upgrade, or a high pick, he’s probably out the door, but that might have been the case even without the trade request. There are very, very few players in the league who can consider themselves untouchable. 

Jared wonders, as November fades into December if all Deslauriers wanted to was make him feel small, make him feel like shit, make sure Jared knew exactly how much power over him he had, and he’s satisfied now. The tone of every one of their conversations since Greg asked have been icily cordial, the kind of spun glass tension that could shatter in a second, but hasn’t yet. Jared waits. And waits.

He spends Christmas break with his family, and Bryce and Elaine — who are obviously also family — and it’s good, but he also spends it idly wondering if he’s going to be on a different team in the new year. Not like, for New Year’s, though it’s a possibility, but trades pick up after Christmas, the unofficial halfway mark of the season, when teams start to have an idea of where they’re going to end up, if they’re going to be in or out of the playoff picture, and the teams on the bubble start to stock up on players to ensure they make it, the teams well out of things shed players for prospects, hoping that they can buy the future with whatever they’ve got left of the present.

He waits. January slips by quietly, the Oilers lose, and win, and lose, and lose, and lose. By the time All-Star break comes and goes and the media starts hyping up the upcoming trade deadline, Jared starts to think maybe he isn’t going to be traded at all, or at least, not this season. Maybe Deslauriers is planning on doing it at the draft, or some other time in the offseason. Maybe he wants to wait until next season, when Jared’s contract is expiring, because at that point he’s inevitably going to be asking for a bigger paycheque than entry-level salary — right now Jared’s playing at the level of at least two point five million a year, and some of that’s because he’s playing with Julius, but not all of it — and they’re tight up to the cap already, there won’t be any breathing room whatsoever when Julius is paid what he deserves. He’s going to break eight million easily, so the Oilers are going to have to shed some weight to afford him, or do a bridge deal and possibly have to pay him even more in a few years.

And who knows, maybe the second Jared asked for a trade Deslauriers twirled his moustache and went ‘then I won’t trade Matheson, just to spite him’. It’s not like trading Jared is going to affect their playoff chances — those chances are close to nonexistent — but when you’re a bad team, any sign of growth is good, and Julius’ line has been the positive storyline of the Oilers’ season. Greg’s right, GMs on bad teams have very little job security, and Deslauriers needs positive storylines if he wants to keep his job.

Jared’s anxious going into the deadline, but that seems to be the norm for the Oilers, who are all well aware that their team is one of the sellers in this trade market. Even Julius is a little concerned about being traded, which is stupid: what would another team trade for him, seven first rounders or something? He’s franchise already. Jared doesn’t envy the dudes that are on TSN’s trade board, who are fielding question after question from the media, constant speculative looks. There’s a lot of talk that the Oilers are looking to trade their own captain, which Jared is — kind of fine with. Jacobi’s a UFA at the end of the season, so it’d be good to get something for him that can make them a stronger team in the future. Also he’s annoying.

“ _Jared_ ,” Julius says, with this scandalised but delighted voice, like he can’t believe Jared just said that but he’s not actually disagreeing. They’re maybe a little tipsy. The nerves, and they don’t have a game tomorrow, just practice, so whatever. Jared can have a drink. Jared drinks.

“You’re not going to be traded,” Julius says firmly, like he’s willing it by saying it. If anyone could it’d be him, because if anything’s going to make Deslauriers hesitate it’s messing with Julius’ line.

“Who knows at this point,” Jared says, flopping back against his couch. He’s cycled from being one-hundred percent convinced he’ll be on a plane tomorrow to one-hundred percent convinced that if Deslauriers hasn’t traded him yet that means he’s not going anywhere at least seventeen times today alone. It’s exhausting. “I dunno, I just feel like, queasy.”

“Looking up,” Julius says, then, presumably once he’s read the definition, “Me too.”

“You have nothing to feel queasy about, oh my god,” Jared says. Julius isn’t on the trade-bait board either, not because he isn’t the best bait ever, but because everyone knows there is nothing that another team could offer to convince Deslauriers to give him up. He’s not just their best player by a long shot, Jared’s wholly convinced he’s going to end his career in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Nineteen years old and he’s already breaking the ankles of the vets trying to defend against him. Jared shudders to think what he’s going to play like at twenty-two, let alone twenty-seven. Mostly because they probably aren’t going to be on the same team at that point.

Great, the sad thoughts are invading. Jared gives his glass of wine a distrustful look.

“I do anyway,” Julius says.

Bryce does too, judging by the texts he’s been sending Jared for the past week. Unlike Julius and Jared, he _is_ on the big TSN trade-bait board, but pretty low down, more because it’s not likely that the Flames would give up their top scorer when they’re on the playoff bubble — just two points out of contention right now — than because he isn’t good bait, because on top of his talent he’s got one of the best value contracts in the league, one that takes him right through to where forwards usually peak. Still, it’s exceedingly unlikely the Flames would pull the trigger on him. They’re more likely to be picking up pieces for the last stretch of the season than anything else — Bryce might have a new linemate by tomorrow, but he’s staying put.

If anyone’s moving tomorrow, it’s Jared. Or Jacobi, who’s sitting at sixth in the league on that board.

Jared hopes it’s just Jacobi.

“Give me another beer,” Julius demands.

“You know where they are,” Jared says.

Julius nudges Jared’s thigh with his foot.

“Beer,” he says.

“I won’t miss you at all if I get traded,” Jared says. 

“Yes you will,” Julius says.

“Just on the ice,” Jared says. “Off the ice you suck.”

Julius stalks to the kitchen, all ruffled, like a furious cat, and Jared grins fondly after him, but makes sure his face is neutral when Julius comes stalking back out, beer in hand. Jared doesn’t know how you can take a passive-aggressive sip of beer, but Julius pulls it off.

Jared’s a little past tipsy, closer to the not great combination of too much wine and too many nerves when he checks the time, blanches to see it’s close to midnight. Not that late, really, but it’s going to be an early day.

“It’s late,” Jared says.

“Yeah,” Julius says.

“Gotta wake up early,” Jared says. If he does get traded, he does not want that to literally be a wakeup call, so alarm’s got to be set for six, just in case. Practice is a late one, at one, right after the deadline, Jared guesses so no one’s spending it wondering if they’re about to get a whisper in their ear to start packing, so Jared’s got a fun morning planned of mainlining coffee and trying not to have a heart attack.

“Yeah,” Julius says. “Want me to come for breakfast?”

Jared’s half ready to tell Julius not to do him any favours, that he’s not obligated to keep Jared company through the panic, but the way Julius looks, nervous himself, he thinks it’d be doing Julius a favour too.

“Okay,” Jared says. “I’m not making you breakfast though.”

“I’ll order some,” Julius says.

“Okay,” Jared says.

Jared groans when his alarm goes off, feeling like he just fell asleep. He hits snooze, drifting a little, and the next thing he knows there’s insistent knocking on his door and his phone says eight in the morning. No missed calls, thank fuck, just a few texts wishing him luck and sending love his way. Jared wonders if anyone’s ever slept through a trade before, woken up to the whole world already knowing. Stupid deadline is way too east coast biased, guys on the west could be going somewhere else at five in the morning without knowing it.

“Did you just get up?” Julius asks judgmentally when Jared opens the door.

“Yeah,” Jared says through a yawn. “Have I been traded? Are you the trade fairy?”

Julius rolls his eyes at him and pushes past him, putting two coffees and a bag of McDonald’s on the table.

“Healthy,” Jared says, but it’s not like he’s ever going to turn down a McDonald’s hashbrown. He roots into the bag, finds two egg McMuffins and nothing else. “No hashbrowns?” he asks.

Julius shrugs. “Too greasy.”

Jared grumpily unwraps his sandwich. Hashbrowns are the best thing at McDonalds, no contest. Too greasy. Fuck Halla. 

“Any of the guys gone yet?” he asks. 

“Not yet,” Julius says. “Slow morning.”

It always starts slow, then starts avalanching around noon eastern. 

Julius turns the TV on, switches it to TSN, then frowns at Jared when he hits mute.

“I refuse to learn I’m traded on TV,” Jared says.

“You won’t be traded,” Julius says, but doesn’t protest when Jared turns the TV off entirely. He opens twitter, goes to the account of the guy who’s known as an insider and has earned that title, as far as Jared’s concerned, scrolling through the updates. A few bottom six guys, a slightly surprising move of one of the top Bruins, considering they’re in the playoff picture. Making room for someone big, maybe. No Oilers. Which is genuinely surprising. If Deslauriers sits today out he’s going to have some pissed off fans on his hands. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

Jared eats his hashbrownless breakfast, drinks his coffee too fast, getting a burnt tongue and heartburn for his trouble, goes to the kitchen to start the pot, because he’s going to need more. 

“Jacobi,” Julius says when Jared returns, and Jared refreshes the twitter to see an announcement that the Oilers are close to finalising a deal to ship him out, though they don’t say to who, or what they’re getting back. He finds himself a little more upset than he expected. Jacobi _is_ annoying. He’s still Jared’s captain, good at giving advice about play. And if they don’t get someone good back — and Jared’s sure it’s going to be picks coming their way for Jacobi, maybe prospects that need time — Julius is probably going to be moved up to take his place. Which leaves Jared — he doesn’t know where that leaves him.

Julius has an impressive poker face considering he just got promoted to first line centre. Jared refreshes twitter, wondering where Jacobi’s going — it’s going to be a team pushing for the playoffs or already there, trying to stack their odds, add an offensive punch along with defensive reliability. Hopefully not in their conference, let alone their division. Jacobi’s a pain in the ass to play against in scrimmages, it’d be way worse in actual games.

 _looks like jacobis gone_ , Bryce texts him, so Jared guesses he’s watching. _good riddance_

Jared snorts. Playing against Jacobi’s line wasn’t a hypothetical situation for Bryce. Now it’s going to be Julius he’s facing off against, which is — a weird thought. And probably not an improvement, at least for Bryce.

His phone buzzes in his hands, once, twice, and Jared freezes, notices Julius doing the same thing beside him. 

“Just Bryce,” Julius asks, more hopeful assertion than actual question.

It isn’t. Jared lets it buzz once, twice more, like just letting it go to voicemail is going to change anything, and then he hits answer, puts it to his ear. Hiding from it isn’t a realistic option, unfortunately.

“Was I packaged with Jacobi?” Jared asks, because Greg doesn’t have to say a word: Jared already knows he’s gone.

“Yeah,” Greg says. Well. Jared guesses he’s not playing against him any time soon.

“I hope Deslauriers got a lot,” Jared says.

Greg huffs out a laugh. “He got a bit,” he says. “Do you want to know where you’re going?”

He doesn’t. 

“Yeah,” Jared says after a moment. “Lay it on me.”


End file.
